


The Way To A Spider's Heart Is Through The Opisthosoma

by MissMoochy



Series: MissMoochy's Spideypool Bingo Oneshots [7]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man/Deadpool - Joe Kelly (Comics), Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Aged-Up Peter Parker, Awkward Crush, Enabler Wade Wilson, Fast Food, Food Kink, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, POV Wade Wilson, Short & Sweet, Spideypool Bingo 2020, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:54:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25982413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMoochy/pseuds/MissMoochy
Summary: Spideypool Bingo prompt: [Food Kink].Wade likes to bring Peter food after patrol. It's for purely altruistic reasons, he tells himself.
Relationships: Peter B. Parker/Wade Wilson, Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Series: MissMoochy's Spideypool Bingo Oneshots [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813951
Comments: 8
Kudos: 251





	The Way To A Spider's Heart Is Through The Opisthosoma

“I love these lazy Thursdays with you, Peter.”

Peter emerged from his burrito wrapper. “It’s Sunday.”

Wade blinked in surprise. “Oh really? Damn it. How’s the burrito?”

Peter took another wet bite and sauce dribbled down his chin. “S’good. Very moist.”

“Ah cool. It’s good that it’s moist. You’d want it to be moist.” 

_Argh, gotta stop saying moist!_

“I can’t _—moist—_ help it _._ Shut up, Wade.”

Peter didn’t comment on Wade’s non-sequitur. He was used to it now, Wade realised. Wade talking to invisible voices or going on random tangents didn’t even make Spidey bat an eyelid. They'd been friends for so long that Wade didn't think he had to hide anything from Peter.

Okay, it was a Sunday, not a Thursday, but he loved it all the same. Sitting here on a rooftop with Peter, tucking into burritos as the sun set in the horizon. Peter looked gorgeous, silhouetted against the dying amber glow. His blue-suited body bathed in warmth. How could this guy look so beautiful even as he was stuffing his face with cheap street food? And Peter was not a polite eater. He used to be, Wade thought. When he was younger. But maybe life’s stresses had eroded his delicate sensibilities or something, because now, he sat, biting off enormous chunks of meat, chewing noisily and swallowing.

Peter swallowed a particularly large mouthful and made a choked sound.

“You okay, buddy?”

“Mm.” 

When Peter finished his food, he licked the wrapper clean. That wet, pink tongue had no right to look so inviting. 

* * *

Peter was rather like a cat, Wade thought. He had no fixed abode that Wade knew about, and it was never clear where he was or what he was doing. He’d turn up out of the blue, follow Wade around or crawl through the window of his apartment, calling out a gentle greeting. It was almost as if Peter had a nose that could scent out food, whenever Wade was sitting on a rooftop getting a bite to eat, Peter would swing over, asking if there was anything left. Wade would always cave and buy him something. He was a greasy alley cat that slithers between your ankles, winding himself around your legs and begging for treats. And then strutting off, tail held high, when he was bored of you.

Wade could live with that.

* * *

He dropped down next to Peter on the ledge and poked him in the arm.

“Spider-Man!”

“Deadpool,”

Wade poked him again, this time with something long and hard and prone to make a mess if you hold it too tightly.

“Got you a popsicle. One for you and one for me.”

“Thanks,” Peter accepted it with one hand, rolling his mask up with the other. So smart, multi-tasking. Peter’s stubble was making an appearance, Wade noticed. God, Wade missed having hair.

Wade slipped the wrapper off his one and popped it in his mouth. His mouth instantly cooled and began to water. He gave it a lick and that strange, artificial flavour coated his tongue.

 ****He risked a glance sideways, to see Peter’s profile. There he was, tousled, unbrushed hair, strong brow, quirky nose (been broken so many times) and his lips. God, his lips. Pink and perfect, a sweet oasis in the middle of all that rough, wild stubble. Big, fat, pink lips that were currently wrapped around a bright blue popsicle. Peter took that moment to pull his lips off it, and ask him:

“What flavour is this? I can’t tell.”

“I don’t know, I think it’s just blue flavour. See, mine’s red?”

Peter leant over and there was that tongue again, now licking up the length of Wade’s popsicle, leaving a wet stripe of saliva in its wake. _Okay, so that just happened._

“Mm. What is that, cherry?”

Wade lined up his tongue to the exact spot that Peter had licked and slid his tongue along it. “Oh yeah, maybe. I thought it was strawberry but I think you might be right.”

Peter grinned suddenly, and his sunken, tired eyes sparkled. “I thought I’d grow out of this. I thought I had, already. Tacos and pizza and candy and popsicles and…” he trailed off and filled the silence with more sucks on the popsicle.

“You think you’ll still be doing this when you’re old?”

Peter knew what he meant. “Maybe. I don’t know. How could I not? But...I don’t know. I don’t think there’s gonna be a family for _Spider-Man_...wife, kids…”

 _Wife._ Well, that answered a question Wade had never had the balls to ask.

“What about you?”

The answer came easily. “I can’t die so it’s not like I’m wasting my life. I’ll be doing whatever the writers want. What would I be doing if I wasn’t doing hero stuff?”

“You could get a girlfriend. Boyfriend. Dog. Shit, man, I don’t know.”

“Can you seriously see me with a family? I haven’t even seen my daughter since—”

Peter turned around to look at him so quickly that Wade feared for his neck. You could give yourself whiplash, Peter, slow down.

“You have a _daughter?_ ”

“Um, yeah, Ellie. Look, Peter, can we just...not? Okay? I don’t wanna go there, not tonight…”

“But Wade—”

“No, this was, I mean, I got you a freakin’ popsicle, can you try and be fun? I don’t wanna go there, okay, I don’t feel like—”

“Okay,” and then, softer: “ _Okay._ ”

Peter returned to his blue popsicle and Wade returned to his. 

That night, he shamefully jerked himself off as he pictured pink lips wrapped around a hard stick of ice.

* * *

One night, he couldn’t bear it any longer. After a night of battling goons, Peter was ravenous and had made some remark about how he felt like he’d pass out if he couldn’t get something in his mouth. _Jeez, why’d you have to phrase it like that, Spidey?_ Wade had thought to himself but he’d nodded and toddled off in search of food, while Peter sat on a park bench.

By some miracle, he found a kebab shop that was still open. It didn’t look too grimy and the owner was too old and tired to raise an eyebrow at Wade’s bloody jumpsuit. Wade ordered a couple of kebabs, shish for himself and doner for Peter, a large fries (they could split it) and a couple of cans of coke. He never used to carry money on him when he was out Deadpool-ing, but with a hungry spider to feed, he’d started carrying a few notes in a pouch. 

If he was a more cerebral man, he’d probably psychoanalyse his need for Peter’s approval. There was actually a psychological hypothesis called the Cupboard Love Theory. It said that when you feed your child or pet, they begin to associate the pleasure of food with you. And that’s what encourages them to love you. He wondered how much food it would take to get Spidey to love him. All the food trucks in Queens wouldn’t be able to achieve that miracle.

He made his way back to Peter, protectively cradling the greaseproof packages of steaming-hot food.

“I got you doner, is that okay?” 

“Yeah, gimme. I could eat a horse,” Peter told him. He was already rolling his mask up to his nose and _boom,_ there were those pretty pink lips again. The stubble was growing a little thicker now, dark brown bristles covering Peter’s jaw like a garden of dying nettles. Wade tutted. He should get really bring his straight razor and shave him some time. Peter would protest, but he’d probably give in and let him. It was surprising, the things he’d let Wade do, once he’d been fed.

Once, after a particularly heavy Taco Tuesday sesh, Peter had slumped down, citing a ‘food coma’. He’d laid on a rooftop like it was soft sand, and he’d looked so content that Wade had hunkered down next to him. At some point, Wade had wriggled a bit on the hard tiles and Peter had pulled him over, so that Wade could rest his head on his chest. Wade had scarcely been able to breathe, he’d been so jittery with tension, but the rise and fall of Peter’s chest had felt so soothing.

He didn’t think he’d get that lucky tonight. ****

Wade settled down beside him, and they’d tucked in. He’d asked for salad on Peter’s but hadn’t wanted any on his. That was the nice thing about being immortal, you never had to worry about heart attacks or cholesterol. ****

“I like nights like this,” Peter said, breaking their gentle silence. “Sitting here. Taking in the night. It’s peaceful. It’s like being in a fishbowl.” ****

A peculiar turn of phrase, but Wade knew what he meant. The chill of the night, the cold clean air and the blurry buzzing neon lights. The faint hum of traffic all around them, like a big bubble. It was a haven, their own little quiet space in New York, something that the two of them had carved out for themselves. ****

Something about the sight of him sitting there, the tip of his nose pinkened by the chill in the air, and his plump, pretty lips shining with grease made Wade want to lean over and plant a kiss right on that big, stupid mouth. So he shuffled over, his ass growing numb from the frozen bench and whoops, Spidey’s mouth was a lot closer than before.

“Hi,” Wade said.

“Uh, hello Wade, wh—owf!”

Mmm, Spidey’s lips _were_ soft. And they tasted like kebab and ketchup, and the grease made them hot and slippery under Wade’s ragged, scarred lips. He could drag his tongue along those pretty lips, feel them buckle under the pressure, slip his tongue in and— **  
**

“Mph, Wade, no,” Peter said and his hands were firm as they pushed on Wade’s chest. You don’t get a clearer rejection than that.

“Shit, ah shit, man, Spidey, I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me, it’s the way I’m written, but I shouldn’t have—I mean, you don’t even like guys—”

“Dude, it’s fine—”

Some miniature Wade operating the gears in his swiss-cheese brain listened on with horror to the frantic babbling. “I’m gross, you don’t wanna have this old thing planting smooches on you, dang it, Spidey, I’m so sorry—”

“Wade, just shut up, okay? I mean it, it’s okay. I’m...I’m not quite there yet. You know? But I’m getting there. I promise.”

 _Hang on, what?_ “Uh, you? Wait, what?”

 _But you’re Spider-Man! You’re like Hetero Numero Uno?_ Wade thought.

Peter’s lips lifted in a little smile. “I’m getting there, Wade. Just be patient. Okay?”

“Okay,” Wade said and he could barely hear his own voice over the thumping of his heart. “I can do that, Spidey.”


End file.
